


Celebration

by zephrene



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gen, canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephrene/pseuds/zephrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for camelot_fics on LJ. theme: "Celebration".  challenges: use no words ending in -ly, canon setting (no AUs), mention a magical creature.<br/>An unexpected gift helps Elena feel welcome at Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celebration

Princess Elena sat on the windowsill, hugging her knees, bare toes curved over the edge of the stone ledge, and watched the busy townsfolk go back and forth preparing for the great bonfire that night. She had been surprised when Arthur had first told her of the rite, for it seemed just the sort of magical tradition that Uther would forbid. But some things, it seemed, he did not try to stop, merely transformed into a celebration of his own reign.

She sighed, blowing a wisp of hair out of her eyes, and turned her betrothal ring round and round on her finger.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she said.

Arthur’s manservant entered, tousled and grinning. “Good evening, my lady.”

“Hello, Merlin. Am I needed somewhere?” Elena swung her feet down but did not stand. She had found that Camelot was more stringent about her attendance than her father’s court had ever been, and Uther a more volatile king. She did hate being scolded, or worse, enduring the cold silence of her future father-in-law’s disapproval.

“No,” Merlin hastened to reassure her. “No, I just wanted to give you this.” He held out a small whitethorn bough, wrapped in braided ribbon. Two painted eggshells hung from the leafy stem. “Some of the kitchen girls were making them, and I thought you might like it.”

He looked shy, now that he was here, with the strange gift in his hand, as if he had not quite thought his action through. His cheeks colored, but he kept his hand out, palm open.

“What is it?” Elena asked, as she reached across and took it from him. She turned it over in her hands, watching the shells click together, examining the intricate braids.

“A Beltane token, for the bonfire tonight. For protection and good luck in the coming year, and a good harvest, of course.” Merlin’s smile faltered and he looked at his feet. “Some believe they can keep away evil, prevent pixies and sidhe from making mischief.”

Elena laughed. “How sweet. I’m sure I don’t know why any evil pixie would be interested in me, but I do appreciate the thought.” She offered Merlin a wide smile, full of genuine happiness.

In her time at Camelot, only Arthur had ever given her anything, and his gifts came heavy with the knowledge of his obligation. He was courteous, gentle, and kind, but sad, every time he was around her. Elena hoped that by the end of their betrothal year he would be able to offer her more, but she did not press him now. She knew the look of loss he wore, and must let him grieve whatever it was - and she was very sure she knew - in his own time.

Elena wanted to be happy here, but her presence altered every court event, wreaked havoc on the accustomed rules of the household, and caused resentment with no effort or action on her part. Elena had no wish to challenge the Lady Morgana, nor to displace the Chatelaine, at least not yet. But both women had made Elena’s stay harder, perhaps without realizing it, Morgana by her breezy entitlement to a rank that had been hers in spirit but never in fact, the Lady Margaret by her possessive secrets and haughty unwillingness to teach Elena anything she should know.

This all passed over Arthur’s head, and at times even Uther’s, and Elena was not prepared, just yet, to take her grievances and lay them at the prince’s feet. She would wait until he could see her as herself and not just the inconvenient obstacle to his infatuation.

“You just hold it for the rest of the evening - see, there’s a ribbon to attach it to your belt chain, or your wrist,” Merlin was saying, and she turned her concentration back to him. “And then when the singing is done, everyone throws them into the fire, and releases the wishes.” His face lit up as he explained this tradition, gesturing to mime the throwing.

“I have never been to a Beltane fire,” Elena told him. “Grunhilda always said it was inappropriate.”

Merlin looked away, and she was sure she heard him mutter, “I’ll bet she did,” but then he was grinning again, while telling her, “You should come with Arthur from the feast. He never misses it. And it will be like a welcome for you, from the whole town.”

Now it was Elena’s turn to look away. A welcome, for her?

Merlin noticed, she could tell by the sudden shadow in his eyes, but he kept smiling. “The townsfolk already love you. You impressed them, racing at the betrothal games, and they love a champion.”

Elena gripped the token tight in her hands, and let herself hope. She had almost a year before the wedding. Things could change. And she was not, as she had thought, so alone.

“Thank you, Merlin.”


End file.
